Only a few extracts from the Earth Encyclopedia have been given below,
which tell the most important things abouth the Keepers. The grateful author tried to grasp the essence of the Demiurges as well as he could. After passing through his soul, the knowledge appeared as what can be seen in the Encyclopedia. The one who decides on seeking to meet the Keepers should remember that the quietest place in the tornado vortex is the axis.
A Demiurge whose calling is to watch over the river of time. The Great Clockmaker of the Secret Earth feels the tremour of the hands of the clock that has stopped. It is only him who can touch the facets of the Obelisk of the past and future. His joy and tragedy is in the archaic nonlinearity of the calendar. He has conceived the frailty of crystal and the sound of His footsteps permeates all that the civilization of senses lives by, like inexorable «death rays». He is pulse, and comets fly to His astral marching rhythms in purple blackness. The one who has survived where rocks collapse will say that one of His secret names is heard in the din of the falling stone blocks. But He is known to many as Imirindur.
The Demiurge who reshuffles the scenery and the actors. In His deliberateness and absorpsion the Grey Artist colours the black-and-white dreams. Pulling the mithril threads, He does not let the puppets stop their dance of satire and leads the unfinished play to its end beyond logic. After a short interval, the Keeper continues threading the senses onto the rhythm. Even if the life of Secret Earth pauses, this only means that the next breath will be deeper. Only Golloronod knows how roads change and where the crawling stones are headed. By following the map stored in His iron-bound coffer...
The hands of the compass have frozen in expectation of the new day...
The Demiurge who hears every sigh on the Secret Earth. Every one who dares to stretch his hand to the sparks will be enveloped in a moist shroud of viscid mist, and not a door will be a hindrance to Him. If you are filled with desire to the brim, you can hear the light jingle of the keys — the Zealous Reviewer knows no serene peace. The curtains are barely moving. He is close... You can only foresee Nirelantamo's jokes in the calmness of rainpools, and nobody knows when the Keeper will release the herds of black-fleeced clouds and wash the Earth in tears. No one knows when the Demiurge will let the lumps of fire from adulatory layers of height and will read incantations at the top of His lungs.
The Demiurge who knows what is carved on the sunken temple's pillars. He watches the wild torrents flowing together in one whirlpool and bringing serenity to the Earth. Spray from the intelligent ocean flies apart in a chesslike asymmetry, and the Keeper selects the best crumbs of the stardust to melt them later to bullions of delight in the permafrost of desperation. At surf time on the wet sand, the Tired Chronicler records everything that fills the Land of Impressions. But how is one to know what it tells, for every wave eats up the young lines written in newborn tongues?.. By taking pearls from the abyss, Toltotelcon assembles the Necklace of the Path.